Devils Lake inter-ocean. (Devils Lake, Ramsey Co., Dakota [N.D.]) 1884-1905, 1887-04-16
P v.
A STEADY YOUNG MANS EVENING.


hat secluded corner Of London which lies
hidden behind the three great stations, and
Is separated from the rest of the world by
the Hampstead road on the west, and the
st. Pancras road on the east, contains many
houses and harbors many families whose his
tories, were they known, are as romantic
and wonderful, and as deeply laden with
pethos and interest, as any moated grange
or shield OF sixteen Quarterings.
One OF these houses-for reasons which
will be Immediately obvious it Is not neces-
sary " advisable to name the road in which
it stands-is devoted, 20 to speak, 20 tho
nightly conjurins Of the emotions among
those who are privileged to enter its walls.
No melodrama ever placed upon the boards
OF a theatre arouses more fercely and more
certainly tho passions Of terror, anxiety.
rage, despair and frantic joy than the simple
passes OF the great magician who practices
nightly in this house. 1t is nothing more
than a tavern-a simple corner house, with
a sign board and a bar Of many en- RANGES.
The spells, magic and mystery are worked
on the first floor, which is let of for a club
which meets here every evening, all the year
round, except on Sundays. The member
would meet on Sundays as we'll il it were
permitted.
At seven O'Clock tho club opens every
evening. It is not q political club, for
politics are never touched upon; nor Is it a
social club, for the members d. not converse
together after the manner of ordinary NOR
tails; nor is it q club founded for the
advance of any cause, or for the promotion
OF any art, or for any scientific or intel
lectual objects whatever. Yet it is a club
where conversation Is always animated, and
even lnterjectional, though sometimes monot-
onous. 1t is also absorbing, and it brings
all heads bent together; it makes all eyes
strained: everybody's face is anxious and
eager; and it is so witty. so clever. so biting
and epigrammatic, that at everything that
is said some laugh and shout, and some sigh,
weep and even curse. 1t is, lastly, a club
which contains everything which the men,
bers want to make them completely happy,
though, unfortunately, the members cannot
always get what they want and what they
come for.
There were eight or nine small tables
about the room, each provided with a pair
of candles, and each occupied BY two men.
There was u sideboard, or buffet, with de-
canters ard glasses, cigars, cigarettes and
the usual trimmings, behind which stood a
young lady Of bar-maidenly LONELINESS. For
the look of the thing there were champagne
bottles, but the customary drink was whisky
Or bottled stout. A dozen men were stand
ing about the bar, drinking or talking to
the girl They were those who had come
too late for a place, n were waiting their
turn. The atmosphere was thick and heavy
with tobacco smoke. There was also an
open piano, but no one regarded it.
Among the tables and those who sat out
there moved continually a man rather small
OF stature. but Of good proportions, Of
straight and regular features, and very
carefully dressed. He was now advanced in
life. being perhaps sixty years of age. His
hair was white, and he wore a heavy white
mustache. A cigarette was always %
tween his lips; his voice was soft, gentle and
he seemed to have something friendly to say
to every one Of thu members; his smile was
kindly; his eyes benevolent; he laughed
easily and unsteady: and there was not a
man in the room who did not believe that
the count was his own private, personal and
particular friend. They called him, to show
their great respect, the count. He did not
himself claim the title, though perhaps he
was a count in his own country, or even a
prince. for he was by birth an Italian, and
his card bore the simple name Of Signor
Giuseppe Piranesi. He had lost the fore
niger Of his right hand-in a duel, it was
understood, about a lady, no doubt a
princess Everybody believed the count had
been, in his day a terrible breaker of ladies'
hearts
In plain words, the place is a gambling
club, run by this Italian who was so good q
friend to all the members.
Among the players at the middle table sat
Dick Murridge.
His father was right in mistrusting a boy
who went about his work like a machine,
and seemed to have no passion, no pursuit,
no ambition-who committed no small fol-
lies and had none Of the headloug faults of
ardent youth. Dick had a pursuit. 1t was
absorbing and enhancing; he folio wed it
with ardor every evening of the week. It
was a pursuit which brought into play, to a
very remarkable degree, the maxims which
his father had taught him. 1t requires, for
instance, no law of honor. except that if you
conceal cards, or play false, or do not pay
up, You are out-kicked. 1t makes no foolish
pretense about friendship. philanthropy.
charity, or any stuff Of that kind. At the
baccarat table every man is for himself.
No skill is wanted; no dull working and
daily practice in order to acquire dexterity,
vhioh voy1j MT ia ~ uv~ ,,oa <h> -ho1s